


The War-God Holds A Contest

by Mechanical



Series: Tales of Three Goddesses [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Fables - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:08:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23881342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mechanical/pseuds/Mechanical
Summary: A fable of when the war-goddess, Falla, hosted a competition - to unexpected results.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Series: Tales of Three Goddesses [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721122
Kudos: 7





	The War-God Holds A Contest

A long time ago, when the three goddesses still strode the earth-

Falla, war goddess, destroyer of monsters, was bored. She had strode the earth three times, and cast down all foes she could find; now the dragons of the jagged mountains hid in the deep caves, and the giants of the wildlands fell to the ground and trembled as soon as they heard her stride.

With naught else to do, she decided to hold a contest.   
“Come forth, ye warriors!” she called, and her voice echoed through the world and danced on every sword. “I, the great and mighty Falla, do call a contest – for any who defeat me in battle, I shall grant their deepest wish!”  
The summons went out across all the lands from icy Gloam to the secret lands to the west, unseen by man. Man, elf and orc – and stranger things beside – all came to test their mettle against the goddess. 

First they fought each other, and the ringing of sword on sword rang like bells until the heavens seemed to echo with it. For three days, the greatest warriors of the world battled and battled, until only a hundred remained who had not been defeated.

Some tested their strength directly, and Falla wrestled down great orcish war-chiefs, who could otherwise pull whole trees from the earth. Elven sword-saints, who had practiced the art of cutting for a thousand years, found themselves outmatched by the great shining weapon Falla had given no name beyond Sword, for it was the first and greatest of its kind. Archers who had never missed the mark found themselves outshot; the wise warrior-kings of men, as they tended to be in that time, found themselves encircled and destroyed in games of strategy.

Days passed, and the number of defeated competitors grew. They settled in a circle around the testing-ground, watching the others fail to beat the great war-god, until finally, only one was left.  
She was small, and plain of features, and bore no armour to gird her flesh or mighty weapon to defeat her foes. Indeed, she had nothing but an old pocket-knife and that ten-stringed instrument named the psaltery. Indeed, she had little skill at arms at all – but she had slipped between the notices of the great champions, and bided her time until she was one of the hundred remaining. 

Falla looked upon her, and was not impressed, and impatiently bade her introduce herself.  
“I am Miriam,” said the woman, “And I challenge you, O Goddess.”  
“And in what do you challenge me? Whether blade or might, I will overcome you, as I have all others.”  
And where others might quail at such knowledge, Miriam merely smiled, a small quiet thing.  
“Is it not true, that a great warrior must have a bold heart?”  
“That is so,” Falla acknowledged.   
“And is it not true, that a great warrior must be able to strike the hearts of his foes, and fill them with fear; and he must buoy the hearts of his allies, and fill them with courage?”  
“That is also true, but that is not a challenge,” Falla frowned.   
“Then I challenge you – the one who can most affect the hearts of all those around shall be the winner.” 

Falla paused, but she had been trapped by her agreements.  
“Very well – but I shall go first!” she cried. She threw back her head and roared, a great and terrible sound, and all the warriors assembled found themselves struck through with fear. They scrambled about, letting loose shouts of terror, and it was a long while before they gathered their courage and what remnants dignity they could find.

Certain of her victory, Falla grinned.  
But Miriam merely smiled that small smile, and took out her psaltery. She strummed the strings, and with it weaved a tapestry of sound. She raised her voice in song, and the music took the assembled warriors to peaceful calm, before the tempo changed and carried them to a different plateau – her song took them to bold excitement, to slow and tempestuous dread, and back around again.   
Finally, the song ended, and Falla was forced to concede, for the young woman had shown her mastery of their hearts, far deeper than the terror of the war-god’s roar.

“You win,” she said, quietly. “Name your wish, and I shall grant it. I could give you the strength to pluck mountains from the earth, or skill enough to balance upon the clouds. I can slay any foe you desire, and scatter their bones upon the hills. Name your wish.”

“Marry me,” said Miriam, and for the first time in her life Falla was struck silent by surprise.  
“Oh,” is all she managed, and that is how the war-god lost a contest and gained a wife.


End file.
